Not a place to go, nor a group to belong to, nor a club to attend.
But wherever I see God, love being born, kindness being spread.
Not a group who looks just like me, thinks like me, believes like me.
But a diverse crowd of every race, every gender, every worldview.
Not a limited circle of perfection, knowing they are best, their approach is correct.
But a circle facing out, welcoming in, listening to learn.
Not a single door open to some, slamming in others’ faces, locked from the inside.
But many doors never shut, never locked, a porchlight showing the way.
Not pretenders, caught up in a fantasy, learning how to hide.
But the broken, learning to be real, learning how to heal.
Not a stagnant pool, dead and decaying, life shriveling up or flying away.
But a fast-moving stream, untamed and cascading, life evolving or emerging afresh.
Not a tractor wheel stuck in the mud, spinning its wheels, spewing mud.
But a tractor plow furrowing fields, preparing the soil, planting green.
Not a structure stuck: one shape, one organization, one pattern.
But an inconsistent organism: shifting, changing, transforming.
Not an American, gun-toting, republican-backing body.
But a universal, peace-loving, broad-minded society.
Not just what happens in a cathedral, in a chapel, in a sanctuary.
But what transpires in the street, in a coffeehouse, in a home.
Not just on Sundays or holy days or sacred days.
But ordinary days and familiar days and every day.
Not a set of rules nor a set of doctrines nor a set of beliefs.
But an act of hope, an act of following, an act of living.
Not by membership nor due-paying nor roll calls.
But by heart and response and resolve.
Not according to a hierarchy nor a priest nor a minister.
But according to a Spirit and a people, an ecclesia.
Not a perfect sermon preached nor a perfect song sung nor a perfect service orchestrated.
But a word spoken from the heart, a song sung on the streets, a service given to the least.
Not a prayer meeting nor an offering nor wine and bread for some.
But a cry for help, a penny given, wine and bread for all.
Not a government nor a business nor a checklist.
But a family and a soup kitchen and an eraser.
Not a Pharisee, fearing hell, escaping from earth.
But a sinner, loving all, restoring the earth.
Not something in the image of my culture, my denomination, nor even my religion.
But something in the image of God.
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